Numb Like Her II
by WaterLily25
Summary: Sequel to Numb Like Her: Jack remembered the vow he'd made in 1901, and he remembered it now in the 21st Century. They'd "woken up" and remembered everything. New York City was strange and big. And he knew she was somewhere in it. A very different twist for the Newsies, but it will be one hell of a ride. Jack&OC, Kid Blink&OC. Rated M for language and sexual content. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

He was sucked from his dream by the sound of his alarm clock; the irritating noise attacked his ear drums like a scream. He rolled over, slammed his hand on the device, and let his arm drop over the side of the creaky mattress.

But the alarm was just one of the noises: the cars, trains, subways, crying babies, telephones, and televisions were constant, if not in his apartment then in the one next door, the one above, the one across the street. Everywhere: _noise_. There was no escaping it; turning off the alarm just allowed the next loudest to take center stage.

The city was a beehive, just as it had always been. Except now the beehive was much bigger. And there were things here now that didn't used to be, things that hadn't even been dreams in his head.

He slowly rolled onto his back, feeling the springs through the worn mattress top, and he heard the others in the kitchen, laughing and shouting at the TV. It was Sunday, their day off. They were watching the preshow for the Giants game.

He rubbed his face, irritated that he had forgotten to _turn off_ his alarm; they had stayed out too late again and now he felt the dullness of a hangover. But he was up; he could never go back to sleep after that wake up call.

And he didn't want to. He never liked what he dreamt about: Too many familiar places that were long gone now, too many familiar faces. The smells, the sounds, the sites of the city…only a dream now.

And a face that he couldn't get out of his head, no matter if he was asleep or awake. Sometimes he was eager to see it, to see those icy depths. But mostly now it only broke him further, and those icy depths turned his dreams into scream-filled nightmares.

He pulled on the gray sweats on the floor and shuffled across his matchbox bedroom to the matching bathroom, the white tiles cold beneath his feet. The florescent light hummed and he squinted at the face in the mirror. He needed to shave.

Four years ago, this face was just another man's face; a man who grew up in Queens with the name "John", and had a runaway mother and a father who worked in a rundown garage. And then July 15, 2011 happened, and John's face was no longer John's. He woke up and remembered…everything.

 _Everything_. Memories he'd forgotten but memories John had never had…John knew how to work the iPhone in his pocket but _he_ had no fucking idea what an iPhone was. Let alone the radio, car, TV, microwave…a whole new world filled with nothing but confusing things, noise, and more people.

It took a while for him to come to grips with what happened: it was like two people with their own stories living in the same head. Constant headaches. He left John's house in Queens and never went back. He felt no remorse. The father, Ralph, didn't even come looking for him.

He looked the same as he did in 1901; same brown hair that hung over his eyes, same dark eyes, full lips and high cheeks, same body…. All his mannerisms came back to him, sweeping his hair from his eyes with his hand.

He was 23 now. Young, strong. And the others were the same age.

He'd found the others gradually. They had the same thing happen to them. David said they had "woken up", because it felt like waking from a long sleep, a sleep you don't even remember lying down for. And even though they "knew" the new world around them, they still couldn't believe it, still woke up confused and bewildered.

They all looked the same too. They were still looking for Kid Blink. And New York in 2015 was the craziest thing any of them had ever seen. But they were determined to find him.

He splashed his face with cold water, pushing his hair back as he looked up in the mirror.

He didn't know how it happened. Couldn't even remember what had happened back in 1901. But he remembered what he had been doing, who he had been looking for.

New York City in 2015. It was noisy, bright, and big.

And he knew she was somewhere in it.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack opened his bedroom door, squinting in the sunshine that poured in from the window to his left. In front of him was the living room, home to an L-couch, a worn braided area rug, a coffee table with matching end tables, a 46" TV with an array of stereos and game consoles they'd had from their "previous lives". Games and TV were wonderful and sometimes terrifying things; sometimes they could all play mutli-player games for hours. Other times they just left the TV off, and played cards or went out together. They had more fun doing those things anyway, always had.

For a bunch of full grown twenty-three year old guys, they were clean. Because while it was a dump of a building in the lower end of Brooklyn, it was the nicest place they'd ever lived in, and they kept it immaculate, no one ever telling someone else to keep it clean and nice. Clean running water that could be scalding hot, an oven and working lights, even a claw bathtub that reminded them of the one Medda had in her apartments…

Every day was the same faces, and it comforted Jack to see them, hear them shouting and laughing. It was like they were still alive in 1901, with just a few changes to scenery…

To the far right on the other end of the living room was the kitchen, the front door separating the two spaces. Jack and Mush cooked the most, and cooked enough food to feed an army, whether it was just them or for the others too. The guys teased them and bought them aprons for Christmas last year.

Some days they were sad, angry, upset. But they had each other, for which they were grateful every day. To be in this strange confusing world alone…they couldn't think about it. They distracted each other, supported and helped each other. They kept each other laughing. Their bond was closer than it had been in 1901, which seemed impossible. They checked up on each other throughout the day, texted each other inside jokes, sent pictures of the impressive New York City buildings, sent pictures of old buildings they had known. They were never away from each other long, if they could help it.

Racetrack, Mush, and David were Jack's roommates. Race and Mush's room was next to Jack and David's, the shared bathroom connecting them. They shared bedrooms; the thought of sleeping in separate rooms all to themselves was weird. Plus they were used to hearing snores.

Spot lived next door, with a couple of older Newsies: Boots, Snoddy, Skittery, Pie Eater, Specs, Bumlets, and even some of Spots' own Newsies from Brooklyn lived on the same floor. All together, they'd found about sixteen.

They were still looking for Kid Blink. And her…

Those two were a sore subject.

Jack ran his hand over his face again. The headaches were never ending. They all had them: their heads fine one minute and threatening to crack their skulls the next. David said it was because their brains were trying to fit two people in one, memories from the present, mixed with memories from their past… Maybe that's why they were always so irritable.

"This _fuckin'_ thing!" Racetrack shouted at the microwave. "I punch tha buttons an' it messes up my Ravioli. _Fuck_!"

Jack smirked as he leaned against the door frame, observing the morning view of the living room. Nah, they'd always been this way, and headaches had nothing to do with it.

"'ey, ya missin' tha game!" Spot shouted from the couch. He lifted a Budweiser can to his lips. "An' your beer…"

"I swears, ya touch my beer an—DAMN IT!" Race stuck his finger in his mouth, doubling over with his eyes shut tight.

"Race, it's gonna be hot!" Mush yelled as he strolled into the kitchen from his and Race's room, a towel around his hips as he dried his hair with another. "'s what it does, it makes stuff hot!"

Racetrack's expression was a mixture of anger and desperation as he looked at Mush. "It's a wonderful and terrible thing, this _micrawave_."

Mush clapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head, "Yeah, ya tellin' me."

"Morning, Jack," David called as he dropped his pencil on one of the notebooks that lay open on his desk among the piles of books and his laptop.

David's desk that was against the wall next to the front door, the end of the desk pushed against the back corner of the couch. The guys could tease him relentlessly as they lounged, could reach out and ruffle David's dark curly hair. But mostly, the guys would turn around and lean over the back of the couch to watch him on his computer, fascination getting the best of them every time as they watched David bring up web pages about their old neighborhood, about people they used to know...

The amount of history and progress they'd missed was enough to make them dizzy. Their "previous persons" already knew these things, and the knowledge was already in their heads…but it amazed and confused them all the same.

Headaches. Constant headaches.

They each had jobs: Spot worked at a used car dealership, Boots was a taxi driver, and David was a construction worker by day with Jack, Mush, Racetrack and the others. But by night, David was in charge of research, everything from searching for old places they'd known to searching Facebook and social media for other Newsies, for Kid Blink, for…

"Anything on Ira?" Jack asked straight, his expression blank.

David paused, looking at Jack evenly. Every morning Jack asked the same question, and every morning David gave the same answer.

"Not yet, Cowboy," David said with a small smile.

Jack nodded, dropping his head as he thought. He looked up, clapped David on the shoulder and turned to get some coffee.

"'ey, what time is it?" Spot asked through a mouth full of cornflakes. "I gotta get to tha dealership taday 'cause some numb nuts forgot to file some paperwork or somethin'. Bein' manager ain't easy."

"Manager at twenty-three," Race said loudly at Spot, waving his fresh cigar before putting it between his lips. "I don't wanna hear it."

Spot laughed and flicked milk off his spoon at Race.

Mush glanced at the clock on the oven. "'s almost 11. Mornin', Jack."

Mush nudged Jack in the ribs, his eyes bright with mischief. Mush had to pick his days to push and tease Jack; it was obvious to him when Jack was and wasn't in the mood. But sometimes he knew he had to, had to distract that brain of his from over-thinking.

Jack looked up, the same brightness appearing in his eyes. They stood motionless for a moment, watching each other.

Jack feigned a move towards Mush and Mush jumped instinctively out of the way. They began circling each other, their hands outstretched and ready to tackle.

"Ya wanna dance, Cowboy?" Mush asked with a broad smile.

"Ya tha one in tha towel," Jack challenged.

Mush lunged and they were locked together in a tangle of muscled arms and throaty laughs, the guys in the living room laughing as Mush kept one hand on his towel.

But David wasn't paying attention to the horseplay. His eyes were growing wider, his mouth dropping open as he studied the laptop screen. He couldn't believe it.

"J-Jack…" David felt his palms clam up, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He was caught between feeling sick and feeling like he could fly. "Jack!"

The boys stopped instantly, everyone looking to David who was unable to turn his eyes away from the screen. David slowly rose from his chair, his fingers tangling into his curly hair on either side of his head. He started to laugh in amazement and disbelief, sounding half crazy. The guys looked at him in confusion.

"I...I found her," he said.

Everyone moved at once, crowding around David to look at the computer, the light from the screen shining in their eyes. It was a web page for New York University's Dance Academy. The front page had a picture of the junior and senior honors class, all lined up on the main stage with a dark red velvet curtain behind them, all wearing tight barely-there dance clothes.

Each of their eyes scanned the faces of the students, one by one, and each of them rested at last on one face.

Jack felt his stomach drop.

"I was researching more of the campus, where our new construction site is," David's voice sounded far away, like he was under water. "I thought maybe out of the 58,000 students, she'd be there and.…Who knew? We've been working there for over a month already and she's been there the whole time."

None of the others could speak. The last time they'd seen that face was in 1901, that sly smile and those glinting icy blue eyes...It was like they were looking at a ghost, a ghost they were beyond happy to see.

"I'll be damned," Spot said tightly, his throat dry.

"I can't believe it," Mush said, turning his stunned face to his friend. "Jack, that's _her_."

Jack's face resembled stone.

"No mistakin' it," Race said. "David, anyway ta get a betta picture?"

The boys began talking then, needing a better photo to use, more info about the dance building and classes. But Jack couldn't hear them; he studied her picture over and over. And when David zoomed in, her face filled the screen, making everyone go quiet again.

Jack felt sick and full of energy at the same time. Those eyes stared right at him, her lips slightly lifted in a charming smirk. She still had the dark freckle on her collar bone. He could almost hear her voice, teasing him. Her dark hair fell just past her shoulders and she looked as Russian as ever, the most beautiful and the most terrifying face he had ever seen.

And she was alive.

Jack turned to the front door and grabbed his keys, not caring that he was barefoot and shirtless.

But David was quicker; he slammed the door shut with his body, his frantic eyes staring into Jack's as he held his hands up defensively against Jack's chest.

"Move, Dave," Jack said evenly. This scene was a familiar one; David was always there to stop Jack, to talk reason, Jack's walking talking conscience.

David was breathing hard and he spoke carefully, "Jack, just wait a minute-"

"I've been waitin' for four years," Jack bellowed. "Fuck, I've been waitin' since 1901. I'm not gonna wait one more God damned minute."

"Jack, guys, we gotta be smart about this," Spot said loudly, trying to bring his and the boys' excitement down. "We can't be stupid. She might not…be 'awake' yet. We don't wanna spook her."

Jack read David's eyes while he listened to Spot. As the minutes passed, his muscles slowed relaxed.

The others knew his impatience; they wanted to see her too. And they'd been looking at the same determined and wild look in Jack's eyes for too long, and hated to see the disappointment beginning to show through him. But now they knew she was here in the city, alive. That wild look was only intensified now in Jack's dark eyes, all disappointment gone and replaced with a determination that would break down doors. They wanted him to see her as badly as he did.

"Spot's right," David said carefully to Jack. "We've _found_ her, Jack. We've found Ira."

Jack stiffened at her name.

"But for now we have to figure out how to get close to her without freaking her out. Maybe she is awake, but there's a strong possibility that she's not. And who knows what our presence could do to her. Hell…it might not even be her."

"It is her," Jack said darkly. "And you know it."

David searched Jack's strong eyes and nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah I know it. It is her. Has to be. I just...don't want us to get our hopes up and..."

Jack breathed out a huff of hot air, relaxing more at David's confirmation and understanding where his friend was coming from.

"I know, Dave," he squeezed David's shoulder, feeling David relax.

But as Jack thought more, his irritation returned, building up inside him. He shut his eyes tightly, his hands squeezing his skull, his thoughts overwhelming him. She was here. She was here.

Like a gunshot his hand punched the wall next to the front door, making David jump. But David's expression didn't change; he understood Jack's struggle, and he wanted so desperately to let him go. But he had to prevent damage. They had to do this delicately… for Ira.

Jack paced for a minute, like a tiger in a cage looking for a way out but debating if he should escape. He went to the wall across from the front door and put his head against it, trying to calm his breathing and his pounding heart. She was out there, walking around New York City, unprotected and still as gorgeous and desirable as ever. The thought of someone getting to her like last time…

The thought of Garrison Rockefeller being out there too…

He shut his eyes tighter. He couldn't think about that. Not right now.

Spot squeezed Jack's neck, "At least we knows where she is, Kelly. And we'll _make_ her remember. If she's still asleep…maybe you'll be the one ta wake her."

Jack let out a gust of wind. "What do we do, Dave?"

David slouched a little against the door, rubbing his face before lacing his fingers together over his head.

"First, we gotta get everybody else in on this. Text the guys, text Boots."

"Right, texting, sure," Racetrack said, quickly leaping over the couch and into his and Mush's room. "Where is it, tha thing?" he called from inside his closet, throwing articles of clothing everywhere. "'ey, I found ya pants."

Mush, standing next to Jack and his and Race's bedroom door, caught the jeans Race threw at him.

"It's a _cell phone_ , Race," Mush shook his head laughing, pulling his own cell phone from his pants pocket. "Need me ta call yours?"

"Found it!" Race held his black iPhone up in triumph as he reentered the living room. He shook his head as he typed, scratching his brown hair. "I hate this thing."

The guys that were home next door, the ones who were out at the gym down the block, Boots in his taxi cab all heard their phones go off and read the same text: WE FOUND HER.


	3. Chapter 3

Eleven faces were staring at the laptop on the coffee table, the guys sitting on the couch, standing behind it, crowded together to get a look at the picture. They didn't speak for a long time. And Jack, Mush, Racetrack, David and Spot stood in front of the TV, watching the others' expressions: their faces were pale, they looked at her picture in disbelief, but their eyes were lit up with excitement.

Boots looked up first. When he saw the picture for the first time ten minutes ago, the taxi keys in his hands had slipped through his fingers and landed with a thud on the rug. He hadn't even noticed. All of them had sat there, motionless and staring at what might as well have been a ghost, for ten whole minutes.

"Cowboy… she looks tha exact same," Boots said quietly.

Jack looked down, nodding. "I know."

Mush squeezed Jack's shoulder. "'s ok, man."

"We found her Facebook page, too," David said, pointing to the laptop. "Click the tab at the top."

Specs clicked it and all of them gathered closer. Even the guys and Jack moved away from the TV to see it again, seeing her picture.

"Wow," Bumlets muttered.

" _Tiffany_?!" Snoddy said with disgust. "Her—her name is _Tiffany_?! There's no way…"

Racetrack shook his head at the girl on the screen. "We couldn't believe it either. Looks nothin' like the Tiffany's I know."

Mush looked at Race with a confused expression. "Race, you don't know any Tiffanys."

"Stay focused, Mush," Race said tightly without taking his eyes on the computer.

"She doesn't get on much," David commented as Specs scrolled through her timeline and pictures. Her page was mostly pictures of New York City, Central Park, and dance pictures she'd been tagged in on New York University's page.

Each picture stunned them more, amazed at the likeness she had to her former life. Her thin strong face, her striking blue eyes lined in long lashes that matched her curved eyebrows and dark brown hair, almost black… her creamy skin with touches of pink in her cheeks. And her lips…

Jack felt the emptiness in him grow. But he was eased when he didn't see any pictures or mentions of other guys. She rarely went out, and stayed mostly to herself. She hardly posted anything on Facebook. And she was in love with the city and visited the same places over and over, according to her pictures.

They felt almost guilty for looking at her dance photos: she was barely dressed in her dance costumes and outfits, consisting of less material than a bathing suit. Back in 1901, they wouldn't have thought these kind of clothes to exist...But they'd be lying if they said she was anything less than stunning.

"Alright," Snoddy said carefully, looking up at David and Jack. "What now?"

"Yeah, we all work there in the morning, at tha site," Bumlets said, brushing his long black hair from his eyes. "I mean, we can' just jump 'er."

"No," David took a deep breath, looking at Jack before continuing. "We gotta be cool. Act normal, but keep our eyes peeled. We all know her face…she's hard to miss."

The boys smiled sadly, nodding.

"'s a lot of people down there at tha university," Specs said dejectedly. He removed his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. Before Specs had "woken up", his eyes had been near perfect. Once his memories came back to him, his eyesight went to hell. He wore thin framed round glasses, close to the ones he'd had in the 19th century. "Lotta students. We needs eyes…everywhere."

"I can drive around campus," Boots said eagerly. "Students always take cabs. I can watch from tha streets, see if I see her."

"The new work site is for the arts department," Spot stated, chewing on a piece of gum. "You guys will be right there; you'll sure as hell see her. An' you betta text me as soon as you do's," he pointed hard at Racetrack, who responded with an eye roll.

"We've been there for a month already," Race contradicted him, rubbing the back off his neck and glaring. "Can't believe we haven't seen her before now…an' if these _fuckin'_ headaches don't stop, I'm gonna lose my shit."

David grabbed a pill bottle from the TV stand, tossing it to Race.

"So needy," Spot crooned, smiling at Race.

Race, glaring at Spot, popped the lid on the Advil. "Thanks, David." He swallowed two pills and passed the bottle around, knowing he wasn't the only one suffering. Jack took four.

"Someone light a god damned joint already," Spot said, his eyebrows drawn together as he looked over Jack. "Cowboy needs one."

The guys made noises of agreement and Mush went into his room and came back with a cigar box and an impressive midnight blue bong. He sat on the floor next to the couch, opened the box, and let the plastic baggie unroll from his fingers, revealing his fresh stash.

"Hell, it's a celebration," Mush said, smiling. "Don't stress, Jack. Hard part's over. So let's smoke some and relax, man."

The guys didn't smoke much. But when they did roll a few joints and break out the bong, they smoked until they couldn't feel the headaches anymore, or their heads. They smoked themselves silly, and thought it was well justified, with all they'd been through since 1901.

The air became wonderfully cloudy, and the sounds from the Brooklyn streets outside drifted through the open windows on either side of the TV. The boys lounged around lazily on the L couch and the floor as Race and Mush attempted to cook something in the kitchen.

The guys' laughter boomed throughout the 3rd floor, tears streaming down their faces and their sides cramping. Their laughing fits hardly ever stopped once they got through the third blunt.

"I fuckin' _hate_ this _damn_ _micrawave_!" Race cursed and laughed at the same time. He touched a finger to the chicken nuggets, toaster strudel, and pizza rolls he'd stuffed into the small box. "They're still fuckin' frozen."

"If ya cooked as good as your cursin', we'd all be well fed," Specs shouted over his beer, smiling mischievously.

Mush, doubled over in front of the open fridge, gasped for breath before reaching for the next six pack.

"I told you ta put 'em in the oven, numb nuts," Mush said, making the others laugh harder. He glanced at the microwave and then looked at Race who was glaring.

"You didn't even push the start button!" Mush shouted.

Racetrack's glare broke as he joined the chorus of snorts and laughs.

"Fuckin' A, man!" Mush managed to say, putting his arm around Race's shoulders, both of them doubling over.

Jack was sitting next to David on the floor, their backs against the wall separating Mush and Race's room from the kitchen. Jack stopped smoking a while ago; he smoked enough to relax him, enough to make him laugh with the others. But he never liked to be fully under. As leader, he always had to maintain a somewhat level head.

David was the same way.

"I have a good feeling about tomorrow," David said, not looking at Jack but watching the guys on the couch try to play poker with half a deck.

Jack's smile wavered a little. "Glad someone does."

David turned his head to study Jack's expression. Jack's emotions rarely ever had a gray area; he was all or nothing. To outsiders who didn't know him, they'd think him an angry person. But David and the guys knew him inside and out, and they could read him like a damn book.

And right now, Jack was about to lose his shit.

"Jack, you can't psyche yourself out before you've even seen her," David tried to sound soothing.

Jack hesitated. "I'm not…psyching myself."

"C'mon, Jack," David said, speaking in a lower voice. "It's me, man."

Jack read David's face. He was pretty sober; the cloudy red indicator was fading from the whites of his eyes.

"I'm your walkin' talkin' conscience, remember?" David said with a teasing grin.

Jack let his head fall back, hitting the wall with a soft thud. His eye lids drooped and he took a deep breath.

"My skin's been a live wire eva since the memories came back, like strings attached to me, pullin' me everywhere at once…tryin' ta lead me to her but not knowin'…" he paused, looking down. "'s what she does to me. 's like…bein' alive and dead at the same time.

"What if," Jack started but fell silent. He struggling with the words he wanted to tell David but wanted to keep the words inside, as if he were afraid that speaking his thoughts would make them true.

"What if she never wakes up," David said for him.

Jack looked at him, his dark eyes startled. But he accepted the words, nodding gravely. "Yeah. That'd be worse than neva findin' 'er."

David looked at Jack for a long minute, their eyes reading the other's face.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough," David said.

* * *

The guys were tense and wired. Their eyes darted everywhere as they went about as normally as possible: Boots was making regular rounds around the campus, denying ride after ride; Jack, David, Mush, Racetrack, Specs, Snoddy, Bumlets, and the others were setting up the scaffolding outside the new arts building to work on the "tall ass windows", as Mush called them.

"Eyes sharp, boys," Racetrack said, putting a nubby cigar between his lips, his eyes bright. But he cursed when his pocket vibrated for the tenth time since they'd arrived on campus. "Damn it, if Spot texts me one more time…we haven't even been here for five minutes."

The New York University campus was sprawling, melting into the city with only royal purple flags and banners to mark its buildings. Each morning the guys either crammed into Boots' taxi or into David's 2005 Honda, and traveled across their very own beloved Brooklyn Bridge into the city, up to Lower Manhattan, and to Greenwich Village. From where they were working on campus, they could see Washington Square Park, a clear view to watch the constant throng of students entering and leaving campus.

It was a fair day, with few clouds. The semester had already started, and it was already the 12th of October. The fall chill was starting to bite, and some of the students, clearly from other parts of the country and the world, were already dressing for winter. The diversity of the students was incredible, and the guys were nervous that they wouldn't be able to pick out their Russian beauty.

But they tried harder than ever before as they worked slowly; they knew the faster they worked, the faster they'd be done and moved to the next construction site. They wanted to stay on campus as long as they could.

"Remember," David cautioned, glancing at Jack. "No reactions, no interaction. We only need to find her, and watch her."

"Nothin' creepy about that," Snoddy said, trying to lighten the mood.

Jack removed his construction jacket. They were all dressed the same: khaki worker's cargo pants, dusty work boots with clumps of plaster splattered all over them, and a black t-shirt with the company's logo scrawled on their backs in white lettering: Marshall's Construction.

The guys had filled out nicely; the job kept them fit, and for some the t-shirts were a bit snug now. Racetrack often nudged Jack, pointing out the female students who were often caught by the guys looking at their leader, who only rolled his eyes and returned to work.

New York was crawling with attractive women, old and young and in-between. But Jack saw none of them. But he wondered if she felt the same way, whether she remembered him or not.

He remembered when they'd found her Facebook page the night before. There hadn't been any guys' pictures or anything on her page…that didn't mean she didn't see anybody.

Jack turned back to the window panes, eager to distract himself from all this. But his eyes glanced up at every face that came within ten yards of their scaffolding, tiny pangs of disappointment piercing his chest with each unfamiliar face.

"I swear ta God," Racetrack said tightly, shaking his head at the phone in his hand. "If Spot texts me one more time…Hell, I can't look for Ira with him vibratin' my pants off!"

Jack looked at Race behind him before climbing the scaffolding ladder.

"Ya jus' mad it's Spot an' not some girl."

The guys laughed and Race glared at Jack. But Jack wasn't looking at Race. His eyes focused on something behind him.

His heart stopped. Time stopped. The movement of the city, the noise, everything was gone.

There was only her.

The guys looked at Jack, seeing his tightened jaw, and they turned towards the direction of Washington Square Park.

"Oh," Race said quietly.

They felt frozen, watching her as she came closer. The hairs on their arms and neck stood on end and chills shocked them through their veins like ice water. Tears sprung to Mush's eyes, wincing against the sudden breeze.

She owned the sidewalk she walked on. The click of the heels on her black boots reached Jack's ears and gently shook the taught flesh of her thick bare thighs, half covered by her black thigh-high stockings. Her worn gray San Francisco sweatshirt hung loosely on her, her ripped blue jean shorts peeking out from under it. Even under the sweatshirt's bagginess, her legs and walk revealed her profession, her passion, as did the dance duffle bag over her shoulder.

Her hair was down around her shoulders, blowing around her face and getting trapped on her lips by her clear lip gloss, her tongue licking her full lips as she freed the strands with her long fingers. She didn't wear much makeup, only that mascara shit girls used. She didn't need it, didn't need any of it.

Ira.

As she neared the scaffolding, the guys dropped their gazes and tried to act distracted with their work. But Jack didn't remove his eyes from her face as she looked up, seeing him.

Her bright eyes flew up his body before meeting his, sending thrilling chills down his spine. The corners of her lips lifted slightly, those bright eyes so intense in their brief encounter with his. His face stayed emotionless.

All the memories with her crowded his mind at once: pressing against her in the shadowy hallway in the Irish pub, seeing her dance on the roof, feeling frustrated as he yelled at that horrible beautiful face, seeing her smile and hearing her laugh, hearing her screaming his name...all from a time that no longer existed.

But here she was, in a time none of them thought would ever exist. And she fit into it perfectly, as if she had never lived back in 1901. She could've been a stranger to him.

But he was a stranger to her, by the look in her eyes; eyes that used to flash with passion or fury when she looked at him.

The thought killed him.

Her eyes lingered on him for longer than a usual stranger's, but blinked away with no feeling reflected in their depths. His eyes followed her as she passed, her head turning forward again..

His lips had tasted that skin, had devoured those lips, had touched those thighs. And she didn't know it.

She didn't know him.

He felt numb for an instant before all his feeling returned to him at once as a fire in his chest.

"Jack, wait!" David yelled after him, but he didn't hear him. "JACK!"

Racetrack and Mush seized David's arms before he could run after their bound-and-determined brother.

"Hold on, Davie," Racetrack said, looking at Jack's quick retreating figure with a gentle expression.

"Jus' give 'im a chance," Mush pleaded. "I know we all agreed ta not approach her…but damn it, man…he's been waitin' all this time…for her."

David looked after Jack, praying he didn't do anything stupid, and praying that somewhere in the recesses of her mind she would remember him. He didn't know what was worse: seeing the hard, broken-hearted expression on Jack's face, or seeing the blank expression on hers as she walked by them.


	4. Chapter 4

Seeing her on the internet, where pixels created her face, might as well have been fiction to Jack; it wasn't real, not like seeing her in person before him. Seeing her here, in real life, with skin he could touch and shadows on her face that he could see, glinting flecks of light in her eyes…this was the real confirmation.

When she'd gone missing in 1901, a small dark thought had haunted him every day and night, telling him she was dead. And he didn't know why or how'd they'd all crossed over into this new world, but he'd been terrified she'd been left behind, died away back in their old New York.

She was walking in front of him now, about 20 yards ahead. All the little strings attached to him that had been pulling his skin in all directions, were now fixed on one point, pulling him to her. She didn't know him, not yet. But she would. The guys had all woken up; all memories had come back to them. Surely they would for her, too.

She entered the dance building, a fancy towering monument of brick and tall windows. He didn't think of what he would say when he followed her in, he only wanted to hear her voice speak to him, to further confirm that it was her. Even the smallest detail that didn't fit Ira might've convinced him that it wasn't her. Hard to believe even that, when everything about her was the same. He didn't want to let his guard down and allow room for disappointment.

But he stopped in his pursuit when he heard her call out to a group of dancers climbing the staircase in the lobby, all of them shouting for her, "Tiffany", to join them for lunch.

She turned on her heel, her eyes resting on the group of students. Her lips lifted into the smirk he knew too well.

"Go on without me," her voice echoed in the openness of the artsy building. "I need studio time."

She turned and went through double doors but he couldn't follow her. He was frozen where he stood.

Her voice…the Russian accent was gone. Her voice didn't have an accent, as if waiting for one to come along and it would fit the cadence and sound that came out of her mouth. It was plain, but the tone, the deep husky sounds… The same that used to cry out in frustration, anger, fear. And the same that spoke to him low in his ear followed by a wicked smirk.

Without a doubt, it was her.

He shook his head after a minute, running his hands over his face like he wanted to tear the flesh from his bones, to scratch the itch beneath it.

He could follow her, could watch her through a window or a door, anything...could watch her dance.

No. Too much for one day. His chest was about to rip open from seeing her, his head about to explode from hearing her speak. If he watched her dance, the guys would be calling an ambulance.

He looked around, looking up at the high ceilings and fancy chandelier above him before turning on to exit the building.

"What happened?" Mush asked, the guys running to meet Jack on the sidewalk, completely forgetting their work.

"What'd ya say?" Race's words trampled over each other, almost incoherent in his eagerness.

David read Jack's expression, "You didn't say anything to her."

Jack shook his head. "Nah, I couldn't... But it's her."

The guys relaxed and breathed heavily, thinking. The sidewalks were clearing as the students disappeared into buildings for their classes. The guys still had work to do.

"C'mon," David said, clapping Jack on the back as he turned the guys back to their scaffoldings. "Let's all chill out a bit. Relax. You guys get back to work; I'm going to get us lunch at that café down the block. Race, text Spot."

Race grimaced, "Ah, right. Damn textin'…"

Jack turned his back to the arts building, grimacing. A fear was growing in him that while he couldn't see her, she'd suddenly disappear into thin air, and he'd wake up to the sound of his annoying alarm clock.

* * *

David's heart rate was almost back to normal as he left Washington Square park and the boys behind, heading towards the busy intersection on the opposite side from their work site. He was still in shock from seeing her, like all the boys. But he couldn't get the look of Jack's face out of his thoughts; it was like Jack had been numb, ever since the night Ira went missing in 1901. Now Jack was alive. Seeing her...Jack was Jack again. It excited David. Now if only they could wake her...

David crossed the street to the Block Café, the triangle building nestled on the corner. People and cars everywhere, even at noon. So many people, so much movement. And David had thought New York in the late 1800s had been busy. This New York was constant, always alive. It was no wonder why it had been named the City That Never Sleeps. David could barely sleep in it either. But the headaches kept everyone up, some nights more than others.

But this New York...he liked it. And he got the feeling the others did too. Maybe they could actually live here, all of them, and be happy.

The guys always got their lunches at the Block Cafe, the usual subs and cokes. David always volunteered; the others were better at manual labor than him. He wanted to see the city, research it and the history they'd missed. He was currently job searching for something that would be more useful to him and the guys, maybe a journalist...he smiled to himself, thinking of Denton.

He was about to open the glass door to the café when he saw it: a flash of bright red curls, bouncing on a tailored blue velvet coat. A woman's coat. Unmistakable.

David started and stood frozen as a statue on the side walk, his hand on the door as he watched the red head disappear within the flowing river of people.

It could be...he'd seen that head of hair in his dreams so many times...could it really-

He'd never know if he didn't move his feet.

And his feet were moving before he had fully made up his mind, acting on their own accord to follow the path she carved through the throng. He darted through clearings, almost stepping into traffic to get to her. She was the same height...walked with the same gait...he saw dark blue beaded earrings bouncing in the curls that hung by her face, and even those reminded him of her too...looked like something she'd wear...

At last, he got around her and stepped directly in front of her, making her almost run into him. He was breathing heavy as he looked down at her, all his hope and enthusiasm coming to a halt as he saw her face, his eyes meeting hers.

She looked up, clearly startled as she steadied her coffee and the stack of folders in her arms. Her blue eyes read his as he looked over her face. There were fewer wrinkles around her eyes than he remembered, she must have been a little younger in this life.

He didn't care if she remembered him, or if she hadn't woken up yet, or if she wasn't her at all. He was just happy to see her face; a familiar face among the endless sea of unfamiliar.

But her eyes widened, recognition brightening those blue orbs. The color drained from her face, her mouth hanging open. Time seemed to slow down, even when she dropped her coffee.

"Medda," David breathed.


	5. Chapter 5

David's feet couldn't run across Washington Square Park fast enough.

"'ey!" Racetrack shouted at David, his hands held out in disbelief. The guys turned at Race's voice and followed him, watching David run towards them.

"I think that's the fastest I ever seen 'im run," Snoddy said with a broad grin.

The guys laughed, but Jack picked up the eagerness in David's face as he got closer. Something happened.

"Ya forget somethin', Davie?" Race yelled angrily, his eyebrows drawn. "I didn't know your memory was so shitty-"

"Medda!" David shouted as his feet came to a pounding halt, running into Mush to stop himself. He panted heavily, looking up to see the others frozen where they stood, their eyes stunned wide. David looked up at Jack's face, his stony expression melting away, replaced by the glint of excitement in his eyes.

"It's her, Jack," David managed to say. "Medda, here, in New York."

David's body was a live wire, humming with energy and excitement. And it was spreading to the others, their limbs twitching and moving restlessly as David's words sank in.

"Are you fuckin' jokin'?" Snoddy asked hoarsely.

David shook his head as he doubled over, gripping his knees. "I saw her... outside the sandwich shop."

The guys moved forward suddenly, looking around and expecting to see her behind David.

"She had to leave," David said to them. "I begged her to come with me. She was too much of a wreck-"

Jack's gaze was still frozen on David.

"Medda?" he asked quietly. "You sure, Dave?"

David looked up at Jack, nodding. "Yeah. It's her. It's so her." David let out a laugh, still in disbelief. "But her name is Camille here, Camille Larkson. I saw her-I followed her. She lost it-she started crying in the middle of the sidewalk."

"'Medda Larkson, the Swedish Meadowlark'," Specs mused, smiling gently. "She kept part of her name."

The guys all had little amazed smiles on their faces. They felt like it was a dream, something from a movie; too good to be true. And she was here, like Ira, walking around this amazing city, living their own lives.

"So what happened?" Mush asked as his smile grew bigger, brighter. "What'd she say?"

The guys gathered around David and Jack, their ears alert. David grinned at Jack, standing up straight.

"She pulled me into an ally," David breathed. "She hugged me so tight I thought she was gonna break me. She couldn't believe it was me, talked so fast I couldn't keep up. She started drilling me with questions, and asked if anyone else was here too. Asked about you, Jack. I told her you were here, and then she _really_ lost it."

The guys laughed and Jack felt his lips smile more, chuckling, disbelieving. Medda, here, in 2015.

"She gave me her address," David said, pulling out a crumpled pamphlet. "She's a producer guys, on Broadway."

The guys moved all at once, their hands grabbing at the paper, gathering closer to look at the playbill for "Hamilton", with the name Camille Larkson typed at the top.

"I'll be damned," Race said. He read the address aloud and gave a low whistle, "Upper East Side. She's sittin' pretty."

"She wants everyone there tonight," David said.

"Hope she lives in a penthouse," Bumlets said, shaking his head. "We require a lot of room these days, huh cowboy?"

Bumlets and Snoddy elbowed Jack teasingly, laughing as Jack tried to block them. But soon all of them were laughing and clapping each other on the backs and shoulder, overjoyed and thrilled that they had one more familiar face in this world. And of all the faces, Medda's was one they thought they'd never get to see again. They'd still talk about her, mention her in passing with a sad glint in their eyes. The only mother any of them had known wasn't likely to be here. And, like many times before, she'd proven them wrong.

"Race, text Spot," Mush shouted over everyone's horseplay.

"Damn it!" Race said, fishing for the phone in his pockets.

* * *

The guys dressed a little nicer than usual; they wore their nice sweaters and button downs. They thundered out of their apartments and down the stairs, leaping and jumping as they used to when they left the newsie lodging house. After arguing over shotgun and cramming themselves into Boots' taxi and David's car: David, Boots, Jack, Spot, Mush, Racetrack, Snoddy, Bumlets, Specs. David took the lead, who was taking directions from Race's GPS.

"Don't get us lost," Mush said, glancing at Race's phone from the back seat.

"Ye of little faith," Race said as he punched in the address. "'s tha last time I help you bunch of knuckle heads."

"What a relief," Spot said with a mischievous smile, dodging as Race reached back to hit him.

"Easy!" Jack shouted. He was sitting behind David, trying to sit forward as far as he could to look out the windshield to see where they were going. None of them had been to the Upper East Side since...1901.

The drive was hectic with shouts of input from every loud mouth present, talking over Siri's instructions.

"'ey, 'ey!" Race belted, "Enough back seat drivin'!"

"You'd be doin' tha same thing if yous was sittin' back here, ass wipe!" Spot shouted.

Race whipped around in his seat and managed to land his fist into Spot's stomach before David jerked the wheel to the right, knocking Race back and everyone in the back into Jack's empty seat.

Jack, kneeling in the floor board and his arms resting on David's seat, looked back at his friends, "'ey, knock it off!"

"Cool it!" David shouted, unbuckling his seat belt. "We're here."

Jack was the first out of the back seat, straightening his black button down, looking up and down the street. Spot and Race were still yelling at each other.

"If yous guys don't shut the fuck up, I'll soak ya," Jack shouted.

Two older ladies walking down the street stared at the group of young men and Jack and the others laughed.

But once they looked around, they got quiet; they're fingers fidgeted with their collared shirts, the buttons at their sleeve cuffs. Townhouses and apartments towered over them on either side of the street, painted in cream and gray tones. The trees lining the median and sidewalks were already touched with fall colors of orange and red, and the sidewalks were the cleanest they'd ever seen. It was a picture straight from "fall scenes in New York" on Google search.

David squinted at the door signs on the buildings, the address playbill clutched in his hand. He read it again, then looked up at the building a little further ahead than where they had parked.

"Here!" he shouted, running up the street to one of the apartment buildings. The guys followed David, their steps slowed as they stared up at the building.

Spot ran his fingers through his cropped hair, smoothing the long strands to the side. "This side of town is squeaky clean."

Mush smiled as he followed Race and David up the stairs to the front door. "She deserves every bit of it."

Spot bounded up the stairs and peered over David and Race's shoulder to the playbill.

"Which numba, which numba?" Spot asked impatiently, bumping into Race.

"So help me God I will punch you again, don't think I won't," Race muttered darkly as David punched in 17 into the call box.

The guys had all gathered around David, Jack waiting with his hand on the door. There wasn't a voice in the speaker, but there was a beep and the door unlocked. Jack whipped it open and the guys filed in right behind him, whooping and shouting, clearly fired up as they rushed to the elevator. All nine of them crammed inside and rode up to the 17th floor.

Jack stood at the front, his body restless as he watched the numbers change at the top of the doors. The guys behind him were arguing.

"If you so much as crinkle my shirt I swear-" Snoddy said to Specs.

"Say it, don't spray it," Specs said, leaning away from him, wiping his glasses.

"The hell did you just say?" Spot asked. "'Say it, don't spray it?' Tha fuck is that?"

"It's a sayin' from tha nineties!" Bumlets shouted from the back. "Ya know, that one era we lived in."

"God I feel so old," Mush said, shaking his head. He turned to look at the guys, "Ya eva think about that? We're over _100 years old_."

"And I look fabulous," Race said, smoothing his hair.

The elevator boomed with laughter.

Then the elevator doors opened, and all fell quiet.


	6. Chapter 6

The guys stood frozen for a moment, not expecting the view. They weren't expecting her apartment to be the entire 17th floor, either.

It was bright: lights reflected off the stainless steel kitchen appliances to the left, separated from the spacious living room by a bar with a granite counter and wooden barstools. The floors were oak hardwood. The living room had 2 deep cherry red suede couches placed in front of one of the largest fireplaces the guys had ever seen, with an even larger TV mounted above it. Candles flickered on the mantle. More candles flickered on the low square glass table next to coffee table books of New York City photography, fashion, and vintage.

Behind the couches was a glass dining room table set for eight, with chairs the same color red as the couches. A crystal chandelier hung over it, and the entire wall on the right side of the room was mostly made of glass, giving a stunning view over Central Park and the Upper West Side beyond it. The city lights from here were beyond description, better than any movie that had ever tried to capture the life of New York. The enormous window continued through the corner of the apartment, and in the back corner was a spiral staircase.

The guys looked around anxiously, hoping to God they were in the right apartment suite, and too nervous to step out onto the wooden floor. But Racetrack stepped out first, seeing something on the kitchen bar. He picked up a newspaper, reading the headline to himself.

He turned around, meeting Jack's intense gaze. The guys stayed still in the elevator, Snoddy having to hold down the Door Open button, the elevator dinging quietly.

Race held up the front page of the Arts section of the New York Times, a center picture of a woman with red curly hair, bright blue eyes and a knockout smile staring out at them. The headline read "Most Powerful Woman on Broadway".

"The papers were cheaper in 1900," a woman's voice echoed.

Every head in the room jerked up to see her, standing at the head of the dining room table, staring at them. She was younger, just as David had described her. They had looked up her pictures on David's computer, seeing that wide familiar smile they loved, the smile that put them at ease. She looked the same, except there weren't as many laugh lines. She wore a white sweater that hung off her shoulder and white leggings. Her curly red hair was up in a messy bun, a few curls framing her face. Her eyes were glassy, but she didn't allow the tears to escape. She appeared cool as a cat.

"Hi, Race," she said gently.

Race had dropped the newspaper and stared at her.

She looked them over for a moment, all crammed in the elevator. Her face radiated a calm joy, like the breath of relief after watching a car accident and seeing everyone unscathed.

"You're…you're all grown up," she said. "You look...all the same. So strange," she smiled. "So wonderful. You must be…twenty-one? Twenty…"

"Twenty-three," Jack said.

Medda's eyes flashed to Jack's face and her breath caught.

"Hi, Medda," he said.

She didn't smile but she looked as if she was reliving a beautiful dream.

"Hello, Cowboy." Her strong gaze didn't waiver but her voice revealed her internal struggle to stay calm.

Jack left the elevator and crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. Her expression was a mix of joy, sadness and fear. He stopped in front of her. The top of her head met the bridge of his nose.

He remembered the first time he had ever seen her, on stage, and later backstage when his father introduced him to her. She was younger then, and she looked like that now. For a moment, he felt like a boy again, looking into her blue eyes.

She smiled, breaking his heart.

"It's really you," she smiled. "I thought I was having another dream…waiting to hear my alarm clock."

Her brows furrowed and she leaned around Jack, looking at the others, "You know those things are a pain in the ass?"

The boys laughed without thinking, their muscles loosening. Jack smiled and laughed too, for the first time in days.

Medda gripped Jack's arm with her right hand, and held out her left to the boys, who finally left the confines of the elevator. They kissed her cheeks, laughed as she touched their faces, and she lit up as brightly as the city, her smile the biggest they'd ever seen. She kept shaking her head in disbelief.

"It's you, _all_ of you," she said. "You're _here_ ," she whispered. "David, my dear David," she took his face in her hands. "I thought you weren't real this morning."

David smiled, "I thought you were gonna faint in the middle of the street."

The guys' laughter filled her apartment, the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. She was happily overwhelmed by them, her hands not moving fast enough between them.

"Race, Specs, Mush, Spot!" she laughed as Spot held out his arms, his eyebrows raised.

"Ya favorite," Spot said coyly.

Race rolled his eyes and Medda laughed, hugging them both.

Her hands continued down memory lane, her eyes overjoyed as she looked at each of them. "Bumlets, Snoddy, Boots, ah! Brave, fearless Boots."

"He drives a taxi," Snoddy said. "He needs ta be fearless."

They laughed louder and they stood there for a few more minutes, lost for words, only wanting to look at each other.

"What…wait," She looked around them again and again and Jack knew who she was looking for. His smile faded.

Panic flashed over her face. "Where's Kid Blink?"

The boys fell silent, looking down, or out the expansive window behind them.

"You...haven't found him?" she asked gravely, her blue eyes striking in their sudden grief.

"No," Spot answered after a moment. They all knew Jack didn't want to talk about Kid.

"Not yet," David added.

She nodded, understanding the pain in their expressions.

"Man, I know that feeling," she said, after a moment, her eyes still lingering over their faces. Spot's bright eyes, Mush's beautiful smile, David's curly hair... "That feeling, right there in your eyes. I can't begin to tell you how long-how _long_ I've waited…for… _anything_. I thought..."

She covered her mouth, her eyes exposing her heartbreak. Jack reached out quickly, wrapping one arm around her shoulders.

"I thought I was alone in this crazy strange world," she said.

She sniffed and pulled away from Jack, dabbing under her eyes. She still wouldn't cry.

"Still the toughest broad I know," Jack said, smirking.

Medda's eye cut to him, smirking back.

"I'm a business tycoon," she said thickly. "An emotional woman is bad for business. And here you guys come in here and threaten to reduce me to a puddle."

The guys chuckled at her.

"Here, sit down Medda," David said, pulling her to the couches.

They gathered around her, sitting on the couch next to her or on the floor. There wasn't any amount of awkwardness. They automatically clung to each other, like lifelines they thought they had lost. Even in this incredible apartment, it was like being in her apartment above her theater.

They waited, watching her as she said cross legged. She laughed looking at all of them crowded on her rug.

"You're all so big! So strong," Medda winked at Specs, making him blush and the others laugh.

"We're in construction," Mush said. "Well, most of us."

"I sells cars," Spot said proudly.

" _Hot_ cars," Race corrected.

Spot whipped his head around, glaring at Race. Race only tipped his head, pulled out a cigar from his pocket, and popped it between his lips.

Medda laughed with them and then looked at Jack next to her, falling silent as she looked at him, laughing with his friends. He looked like a man.

"You look so much like your father," Medda said gently.

Jack's head jerked up at her words, seeing the soft smile on her lips.

"It's a good thing," she said with another wink.

He laughed again, dropping his gaze as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Medda," David began slowly, taking a deep breath and releasing it, unsure of how to start. He shook his head, "What happened?"

Suddenly, the air hummed between them with intensity and urgency, and the guys pulled closer to her instinctively. Finally: another piece to add to the puzzle, a side of the story they didn't think they'd get.

Medda stiffened as if she were having a migraine, her eyes closing as she tried to remember.

"I can only...tell you what I know," Medda said slowly. "But I still see it all...our time is still the freshest in my mind...maybe because I think about it the most. Not a day goes by..."

She opened her eyes and looked at Jack's dark gaze.

"Not a day went by that I didn't think of you, all of you...For 17 years I thought of you every day… my Newsies."

Jack swallowed, his skin crawling at the word. They hadn't called themselves by that name since…

Medda took another deep breath, easing into her memories.

"From what David described to me this morning...I… "woke up" when I was 25 years old. I woke up in my body but with a different name, with different memories. I knew where I was…but I was lost, too. New York…is so much different now."

"Ya tellin' us," Boots muttered.

Medda looked out the window, smiling in amazement. "It's beautiful, it's crazy…it's unlike anything any of us could have ever imagined…I struggled to understand what was happening to me…what had happened to me…

"I went through…a deep depression. Why was I here? Where was… everyone else? I didn't have any answers. I didn't know what to do, who to talk to. But one day it occurred to me-to look for you," Medda looked at the guys on the floor in front of her; Bumlets, David, Specs, Snoddy, Boots.

"I never thought I would find you," she looked at Race and Spot, standing at the end of the couch behind Mush who sat next to her. She smiled, "But I had to try."

The glassy look in her eyes seemed permanent, Jack thought; like the tears had been there ever since she woke up and weren't likely to go away. She locked them tightly away, but the tears shed for the lost years together would always be there.

"I got back into theatre, which helped to distract me during the day," she said happily. The guys smiled. "I went to audition after audition, and I changed my name. I used to be Courtney Biggs."

She stuck out her tongue and they laughed harder, loving the familiar charm of her smile.

"I became Camille Larkson, and that made me feel better too. I made shows, got on Broadway, and my artists' heart was alive. I knew things at 28 that actors and dancers didn't know at 40. I knew the business and I knew how to work it. But by night, I went to every public and university library archive in the city, looking for anything and everything I could find."

She hesitated, her expression wavering as her eyes cutting to David, "How much do you know…about what happened to you boys in 1901?"

The boys' lungs froze in mid-breath, the faint distant noises of the city below the only sounds in the apartment, echoing softly. David's eyes jumped up to Jack and their anxious and startled expressions mirrored each other.

"We…we don't know much about what happened," David looked back to Medda, his words careful and slow. "We…some of us, have dreams…we try to make sense of them. Like Jack-"

"I dream I'm in a jail cell," Jack said quickly, his dark eyes even with Medda's. "I have the same dream 'bout every week. I'm in a jail cell goin' mad."

Medda's face paled.

"I almost didn't want to find anything in my research," she said, her voice far away. "I was afraid of what…"

She shook her head of the thoughts and got up. She crossed to the other couch, pulling a banker's box from between the couch and the window. The box overflowed with both copied pages and actual clippings of newspapers. She kicked the box several times with her foot, sliding it between the guys.

They shrank away from the box as if it would attack them; attack them with the knowledge of what they had wanted to find when David went to open his computer…

But most days they went to the videogame consoles, went out to dinner at their favorite bar down the street and around the corner, or simply sat around with beers in their hands talking and laughing about the good times of the old days. The thing was, David mostly researched how to find Ira and Kid. Because even though they didn't say it, they all thought it: they didn't want to find out how they died.

Medda looked up at Jack, her eyes bright with a strange hostility, "There. In that box is all the world had to tell me about Jack Kelly and the Newsies of New York in 1900. That box told me how each of you lived and died. And I never-"

She gasped, covering her mouth as she looked away out the window, watching the city lights over the park.

"I never found anything…on her," she shook her head, her hands flying up to fix her messy hair, trying to distract herself, something she must have learned to do well over the years when the memories became too much. But she couldn't stop the fresh tears. Thinking of her…of Ira, was too much for Medda to suppress.

"I never found anything on her," she said again, shaking her head.

David shot up and his words flowed quickly, "Medda, we found her. We saw Ira _today_ , she's _here_."

Medda's head whipped around to look at David, then to Jack. Her startled blue eyes were intense on his face. "What—when? How? Where is she? Is she alright?"

"She's a student at NYU," Mush said quickly, trying to calm her. He smiled, "She's studying dance, Medda. She's here, in 2015."

Medda put her hand over her chest, trying to breathe. She looked out the window again as if she would see Ira amongst all the buildings of the sprawling city.

Jack looked away. He didn't understand why he detested the look of hope in her expression.

Medda looked at Jack. "You saw her?" she said breathlessly.

Jack glanced up, nodding solemnly.

Medda's brow drew together, questioning him. "I know that face. What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," Jack stood and went to the dining room table, putting his hands in his pockets as he looked out the window to the park and the city beyond it.

David watched Jack and spoke carefully, "She doesn't know." He met Medda's confused eyes. "Ira hasn't woken up…yet."

Jack shuffled his feet, feeling his blood pressure climb, his arms and neck burning. He could see her clear as day in his head, walking towards him, walking past him, hearing her voice without its Russian roll. Her face…

"She looked right through me taday," he said roughly, the glass fogging under his breath.

The guys looked up at him. Jack had been so quiet ever since he'd seen her. He'd act normal one minute but they could see it in his eyes, burning under the surface…irritation, anger. The same look he had back when he and Ira fought like crazy. Except then he was at least happy, even if he didn't show it. Now, he just looked miserable.

"Jack, why didn't you talk ta her?" Mush asked innocently.

Race shot Mush a dark look. And Mush shrugged, scrambling through his words.

"What! I mean-Ya went after her, Jack, I thought ya would've-"

"And have her look at me like a stranger again?" Jack said, turning to face his friends. His eyes were dark, like they always are when he's pissed. "Nah, I had all I could take taday, thanks."

"But she's here," Medda said dreamily, a small smile tugged at her lips. "That's enough for me. And she's dancing again..."

The guys smiled a little, thinking of the last time they saw Ira dance on Medda's stage, the way Medda used to look at Ira, on and off stage. Medda had taken Ira under her wing, had fought for her as she healed, physically and emotionally. Medda loved her Newsies, but Ira was like a daughter to her.

"We're keeping an eye on her," Boots said, giving the woman a wise nod. "Don't ya worry, Medda."

"Yeah," Snoddy agreed, clapping Boots on the shoulder. "We're on it."

"So… what do we do with this?" Specs said as he nudged the ominous box with his shoe. "I mean…do we wanna find out, guys? Do we wanna know if we went out in a blaze of glory?"

"I think we'd remember if we did," Race said incredulously.

"But we don't," Spot interjected, crossing his arms. "We don't rememba anything. And I wanna know why."

Jack left the window, striding over to the cluster of guys to pull out the first page from the box. He unfolded it wordlessly, his eyes scanning the headline.

NEWSIES GO ON STRIKE

"This is gonna take a minute," Race sighed as he ran his fingers through his dark hair.

Medda went to Jack's side, looking down at the clipping. She smiled a little.

"You must be a _little_ excited, Cowboy," she looked up at his stone-like face. "You found her. Just like you said you would back in 1901. _You found her_."

Jack thought for a moment before nodding, determined. "I'll make her remember, Medda. I'll make her remember…everythin'."

She squeezed his hand, "I know you will."

"'ey, it's our picha!" Spot yelled, waving a copied page of their very first headline story. "Man, we were _kings_!"

Medda laughed, leaving Jack's side to sit on the floor with the guys. Jack sat on the couch, next to Mush. Mush clapped his hand on Jack's shoulder, sharing a glance between each other.

The guys went through clippings about Medda and Irving Hall, the Newsies' strike. Then they got to the clippings about Garrison Rockefeller, and his trial for sex trafficking and illegal narcotics, a branch of crime that was beyond their knowledge at the time.

"I hate his fuckin' mug," Race spat, reading the article about his engagement to Joe Pulitzer's niece, the same article Ira had taken from his hands when he had _first_ read it... Chills went down his spine and he had to put the paper down.

Such a strange feeling, knowing she was here in 2015, but remembering her as a ghost…

The guys each had a paper in their hand, but the one Mush grabbed had what they were looking for.

"'ey…'ey guys look at this one."

Medda's good humor had faded slowly as she had watched them go through the box, their laughter decreasing as they dug deeper. And now as she watched Mush, she knew they were about to discover their past…and the blood that went with it.

Her heart broke, even though they were right in front of her, it was like they were fading away, dying before her eyes.

She remembered the day too, the day they had…

"I need a drink," she said, rising from the couch. "Or maybe the bottle."

The guys all agreed in chorus, and she went to her liquor cabinet, fleeing the living room. She didn't want to hear it again.

Mush's face paled. "It's about Jack."

Jack stiffened next to Mush, his dark eyes were shadowed under his furrowed brow. He couldn't look at the paper, he only stared at David's right knee in front of him.

"Alright Mush…just read it," Snoddy said anxiously.

"Give it to us straight," Boots encouraged.

Spot and Race leaned in, their eyes trained on their friend's face.

Mush read aloud slowly, tasting each word, unable to comprehend and believe the bold words on the page.

"April 16, 1901, Francis Sullivan, newsboy and leader of the Newsie Strike of 1899, incarcerated for the murder of Elizabeth Rockefeller, wife of Garrison Rockefeller, and niece to Joseph Pulitzer. Sullivan also goes by the alias… Jack Kelly."

Everyone couldn't move or blink. To say that the story took them be surprise was an understatement. Jack's fists balled up tight.

Mush looked up at Jack, "THIS IS HORSE SHIT!"

They erupted like volcanoes, shouting and ripping at the paper, trying to read the rest over their rising anger.

"The fuck you ever killed her!" Snoddy shouted.

"The fuck he ever killed _anybody_!" Racetrack boomed.

"'Sullivan stood trial for one day before being sentenced to life in prison'… they didn't even give you a full paragraph, the rest is about that weasel fuck Garrison!" Mush shouted, the upset expression on his face only solidifying Jack's silent fury. He still couldn't comprehend…

Jack ripped the paper away from Snoddy, reading the short paragraph himself. It said he had snuck into the Rockefeller house, shot Garrison's wife in their bedroom, and was arrested the next day at the lodging house.

"That's not even what happened!" Boots shouted. "That bitch killed herself at tha docks tha same night-"

"Tha same night Ira disappeared," Spot finished, his eyes looking up at Boots.

Jack's body was on fire, his blood boiled in his veins. Before, he had had no memory of any of this. Now he heard the smack of a mallet, the slam of iron bars, the shouts of people in streets. He remembered now. A cold sweat beaded all over him. He had been framed.

"Ya think…" Mush said slowly, his heart still beating away like mad. "They were all in on it?"

Medda had stopped making drinks in the kitchen, listening.

"They had enough money to do whateva they wanted," Snoddy said gravely. "Even change history."

"Garrison…" Specs breath was shaky. "Killed them both?"

"Let's not egt ahead of ourselves," David said calmly, holding out his hands. "We're just finding out what happened to _us_ …let's start there."

Boots pulled out the next paper and Race went for the one after.

Boots read, "It's a jail record…'Francis Sullivan, deceased September 21, 1901, self-inflicted."

"Suicide," Medda said emotionlessly.

The guys turned to look at her. She was making Manhattans at the marble topped bar, her expression cold on her warm face.

"They recorded it a suicide when not two months earlier in the same records a man was hired on as a guard who I know for a _fact_ was one of Garrison's boys."

She slammed down the steel mixer, bracing herself against the bar. She looked up at Jack's steely face.

"You were murdered in the middle of the night, Cowboy. By a coward who was across the city. And your life ended in a jail record."

Jack couldn't speak, couldn't come to terms with it…He didn't have a chance of seeing it coming. What chance he had had was taken away the moment they had rescued Ira from the Underground. Ira had been right: Garrison said he'd kill him, and he had been a man of his word.

"He killed her, too" Jack said. He stared out the window again, seeing his friends' reflections in the glass, looking at him. "He killed Ira." Her name burned him as it escaped his lips.

His anger was almost too much to bear.

"He killed all of us," Race said, reading a new clipping. "'Newsies Slaughtered in Gang Fight', November 25, 1901."

Medda was still in the kitchen, listening to the silence shared between them, their mourning. Death was something the Newsies had never feared, because they had never thought of it. Death wasn't given a chance to thrive in them, because they fought it every day; fought it to the point that they had felt nearly invincible. They had lost their leader and their lives all in the same year.

"Our lives…summed up in five words," Mush said slowly, his eyes beyond sadness as he looked up at Race and Spot.

"'Newsboys were found early morning on November 24 in an alleyway near Irving Hall. The other participants were not found...'," Race grimanced. "Three guesses who...'Records from the Newsboy Lodging House helped to identify the bodies...' it lists our real names...fuck, everyone is this room...Kid Blink too."

" _Fuck_ ," Bumlets muttered, hanging his head.

"Not David," Medda said.

David's head shot up, looking at Medda as the guys looked at him.

"You weren't there that night. You were with your family."

David looked lost, trying to sift through his memories of the past...trying to remember. He remembered many nights with his family, even more with the Newsies...

"You went off to law school the following year," Medda said sadly. "And you were determined to have Garrison put away. You were murdered September 10, 1903 on your way home from my theatre. You and I used to meet almost every night, trying to build a case against him while you studied. You were so determined."

David looked away, his jaw clenched tight.

"Still fought for us," Boots said as all of them looked at David with respect in their eyes.

"Wouldn't expect anythin' less," Spots said.

David shook his head, "I only wish I could've died fighting beside my brothers."

Mush put his hand on the back of David's head, Snoddy and Specs squeezed his shoulders. Medda, still in the kitchen, had turned her back to all of them.

"We're alive now," Jack said slowly but firmly, looking at the guys around him.

They looked up at him as if he were pulling them from the water they were drowning in.

Jack couldn't stand this, didn't want to see his friends get stuck on their past…on their death dates. The look in their eyes defeated the life and laughter that had been there so many times, before Garrison took it away. Jack had been so lost in his own confusion and depression that he'd forgotten he was still looked up to, still their leader. He had to snap out of it, he had to remember who he used to be.

In 2015, they had a second chance.

He stood up, looking at all of them. "We're alive _now_. For whateva reason, we're alive. We came back from wherever, we've found each other, and soon we'll find Kid. This is…a second chance ta live. We gotta do right this time."

The guys' faces changed before him, agreeing with him and feeling the most empowered they had felt since waking up to this new world. Jack looked at David, seeing him smiling.

"I'll cheers to that," Medda said as she came back to the couches, carrying a tray full of glasses with pinkish red liquid in them. "I think this is an appropriate time to drink our sorrows away. And get that box outta my sight."

Mush and Specs quickly collected the papers and shoved the box into the elevator as Medda set the tray down on the square glass coffee table. They would throw the box away when they left.

Medda laughed as they all enjoyed their Manhattans, Spot and Race doing a thorough job of cheering everyone up.

"I wanna know why we look exactly tha same," Spot said loudly. "A few inches talla, is that so much ta ask for?"

"Such a curse, bein' stuck with that ugly mug a second time," Race said, sipping his drink.

It spilled on his face when Spot slapped him up side the head.

The guys laughed, and David fought to speak over them, "Guys I told you about reincarnation, there are theories and instances that prove it's possible-"

An orange tabby cat jumped up from under the sofa, spooking the guys. The tabby curled up in Medda's lap, and a black cat appeared on the back of the couch behind her head.

Medda stroked the tabby's ears.

"The black one is Jack," Medda said with a smirk, glancing up to see Jack's eyes roll. The guys laughed.

"This one," Medda kissed the tabby's head. "Is Kid."

Sadness fell over them and Medda looked up, sighing.

"Well we're out of alcohol and we still need to cheer the hell up. Time for cheap Chinese."

The guys laughed and Medda unfolded her legs from the couch, her cats following her as she went to the kitchen.

"Medda, can I use your laptop?" David asked as he went to the dining room table, reaching for the device.

"I never use the thing, do whatever you want with it," Medda said as she held her cell phone between her ear and shoulder. She was gazing into her monstrous fridge. "I lied boys; I have beer."

The boys whooped and hollered, flooding into the kitchen as she pulled out six packs of tall boys.

"Gotta love a woman with beer," Spot said, squeezing Medda's shoulders.

Medda laughed, looking into the living room where David and Jack were sitting on the couch, staring at the laptop in David's lap.

"What are you two doing? I have beer and they stay over there! Yes, hi, I'd like 5 orders of chicken fried rice, 40 egg rolls, 40 crab Rangoon, and 3 orders of sesame chicken…"

Race's eyes rolled back as he swallowed a gulp of beer, "I love this woman."

"To tha best broad on Broadway," Boots said, raising his beer. The guys shouted and cheered their bottles.

The guys laughed and David looked up, smiling.

"Just thought you'd like to see Ira, Medda."

Medda took the phone away from her ear slowly as she looked at the laptop far away in the living room, the light blue screen glowing. Jack smiled at her gently as she left the kitchen, walking as if she were in a trace. Her left hand clutched at her stomach and her right at her heart, holding herself together as she approached the back of the couch, looking between Jack and David's heads, both of whom were looking at her.

The guys from the kitchen followed, standing next to the couch so they could see the picture and Medda's face. They smiled sadly at her expression when her eyes landed on the Facebook picture, seeing Ira's headshot; her cool gaze and coy smirk sucker punched them all in the stomach.

Years of heartache, years of sleepless nights and years of haunting memories sprung to Medda's eyes, unable to hold them back like she'd been doing all night. Tears fell down her face as she looked at the young woman, her face all too familiar, so familiar that it pained her to look at it. She took a breath but it sounded like a strangled sob. She covered her mouth, trying to hold the rest of herself together as she looked into those cold gray eyes, gray like the sea.

It was the first time she couldn't hide the emotions storming inside her, but the guys understood: seeing Ira was like facing a magnet, pulling out every bit of misery and sheer joy they'd ever felt.

Medda almost looked frightened.

"She-" Medda shook her head and closed her tired eyes, trying to catch her breath. "She looks-"

"We know," Spot said, putting his arm around the woman's shoulders.

"She looks exactly tha same, too," Mush said, looking away from the computer.

Medda swallowed and spoke carefully, "She…doesn't have the scar above her—her left breast anymore."

Medda turned away, her face tightening up as she tried to fight the new wave of tears.

After studying her picture a thousand times, Jack had noticed it too. It was Ira's body, but it was like it had never been touched…no bruises shaped like fingers, no scars.

The image of her broken body flashed in his mind and he stood up, walking away to the window to hide his eyes from the rest of them.

Medda went to Jack, gripping his arms.

"Jack, it's a second chance. Just like you said."

Jack saw her lower lip tremble in the window reflection.

"She has a second chance," Medda said gently, looking out the window to the busy city streets, lights from cars crawling across the dark lines.

"We don't even have a plan yet," David said, putting the laptop on the coffee table. "We only found her today. We don't know what to do."

Jack sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He was exhausted.

Medda turned to the guys, their eyes eager at the fresh look of determination on her face as she wiped away the wetness from her cheeks.

"We don't do anything," she said at last, her voice steady. She glanced sideways at Jack and his eyes questioned her.

"But _you_ have a lot of work to do, Cowboy."


	7. Chapter 7

Jack and the guys left Medda's close to dawn. They each hugged her for a full minute, not wanting to leave her but wanting to make sure she hadn't been a dream. They smelled of Chinese food as they changed into their work uniforms and left their apartments for the construction site.

They were quiet for most of the morning, each lost in their own thoughts of all the information they had gained, all the answers…and the new questions they had. Their thoughts changed frequently, from thinking about laughing with Medda to thinking about their names plastered on a newspaper, listing their ages under the headline that they would never forget…

But Jack riled them up, just as he had in Medda's penthouse. A second chance. A fresh start for all of them.

"Ya can feel bad for a little while," he said. "I knows I'm not about ta forget what I read, what I rememba…but we can't stay down. Tha's not us, fellas."

So they cut up at the work site, picked on Race, listened to David's ideas for a plan as the students walked around them. The fall weather was definitely beginning to set in as chilly breezes washed over them. Some of the guys pulled on their company hoodies.

Mush, Race, Bumlets and Snoddy were on the scaffolding above Jack, David and Specs , dripping calk through the cracks onto Specs' hat.

"Really?" Specs shouted irritably, making the boys laugh harder.

Then the girls' volleyball team walked by in torturous spandex shorts, and David knew he'd lost all their attentions.

David looked at Jack, who was laughing his ass off.

"It's a wonder we get anything done," David said as he shook his head, reaching for his tool belt.

"Ya hear back from the Times yet?" Jack asked casually without looking up from the window seal he was working on.

David's head snapped up, staring wide-eyed as Jack smirked.

"Saw tha cova letta on your desk a few days ago," Jack said only loud enough for David to hear. "When will ya hear from 'em?"

David inhaled and sighed, "I dunno…I jump every time my phone goes off."

"I hope ya get it, Dave. Ya deserve it."

"Thanks, Jack," David said with a gentle smile.

"An' 's perfect," Jack said, laughing a little. "Sellin' headlines ta writin' them…full circle."

David laughed with him. But their heads turned up when they heard Mush and Race shouting Jack's name from the scaffolding above their heads.

Race was on his knees above Jack's head, looking out to Washington Square Park.

"Cowboy, there she is," Race said. "Same time as tha otha day."

"10 am," David said, checking his watch. "Must be the time of her first class."

"Nah", Jack said absentmindedly. "She came for extra studio time. 's why she came in tha otha day. Heard her say it."

It felt nice to Jack, knowing why she was there, knowing a part of her daily schedule. One more secret solved.

The guys looked at each other and their eyes flickered between Jack and the young woman, watching him watch her. He was leaning against the iron bar at the end of the scaffolding, his arm relaxed as he leaned, his stance not as aggressive as usual. He seemed more relaxed to them, knowing she was here. They felt relief and their own sense of peace as they watched them both.

And Jack was sure he could pick her out in a crowd now. The throng of students parted enough for him to see all of her, wearing a blood red crop top and jeans that hugged her hips, a flannel shirt tied around her waist. She looked like she belonged here, in this era…straight out of an MTV 90's music video.

Her dark hair was up in a thick messy bun today, and she had ear buds in. He wondered what she was listening to…maybe the music she dances to, for a show…

Her walk alone was enough to render him useless, watching those hips swing back and forth, her hard set shoulders, her confident stride—

Someone stepped in front of her suddenly, standing immobile like a pillar dressed in an expensive black suit.

Jack dropped the arm he'd been leaning against, pissed that this asshole ruined his view. It was a guy, about 6 foot, but he could see her face over the guy's shoulder. She knew him, and she was annoyed.

Jack saw it in her eyes. He knew that expression _very_ well.

"Tha fuck is _this_ wise guy?" Specs said irritably.

The guys all watched intently, and Jack wondered if it was Rockefeller, his blood running cold.

But Rockefeller had darker hair, this guy had blonde—

"Holy fuck," Racetrack said loudly from above, sounding panicked. "Holy _fuck_ , Jack."

"Oh my god-" David sounded like he was having a heart attack. "Jack, that's-"

Jack's ears were ringing. Everyone was sputtering at once, unable to form complete sentences. Jack felt chills all over, the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

But at the moment, Ira—Tiffany—slapped the guy hard across the face, her arm as fast as a gunshot. Passers-by stared at them in amazement, some laughing.

Jack and the guys' eyes widened, and were ready to jump off the scaffold and run the guy down if he did anything. Ira's eyes were blazing as she said something to him.

"Oh I know _that_ face," Race said, laughing a little. "She's tellin' him _off_ …wish tha son of a bitch would turn—I _know_ it's 'im-"

Ira stepped around the guy, and he turned with her, his lips smiling as he said something in her ear. His head lifted as he watched her walk by him, coming toward the scaffolding to get to the dance hall.

The guys didn't even try to act busy. They watched her walk by them, her pissed off state emanating from her as she passed them.

Jack's eyes, torn between looking at her and the guy in black, followed her all the way to the door, until she disappeared. His head swiveled back around, his jaw tight as he finally saw the guy's face.

And Race was climbing down the ladder when he spoke, his face dumbfounded and his voice far away.

"It's our boy, Jack. It's Blink."

Mush's voice cracked a little, and Jack didn't have to look at Mush to know the heartbroken look in his eyes. "Kid…"

The young man was still standing in the same spot. He had an iPhone to his ear as his free hand rubbed over his jaw. He was dressed in all black, a suite without a tie, the top buttons on his shirt undone. His blonde hair was the same length as it was in 1901, and swept back with some kind of pomade.

Both eyes were working, both the same color blue as the good one Jack had looked at a billion times. It was strange seeing him without his patch…he looked—

"He looks like a fuckin' prick," Specs said darkly.

"Man," Race said as he focused his camera phone on the blonde. "Spot's gonna lose his shit…who he thinks he is, John Cash?"

"Johnny Cash, Race," Bumlets corrected solemnly from above.

"Don't send that ta Medda," Jack said as he looked at Race, who was still clinging to the ladder to his right. "We'll tell her tonight in person."

"This would break her heart," David said. "Wonder what he said to piss her off…"

"He's a fuckin' scabba," Snoddy said, sniffing as he rubbed his face on his hoodie sleeve.

Mush squeezed Snoddy's shoulder. Snoddy always acted tough, but they all understood…emotions ran high for them in this new world. Seeing one of their own was enough to break them down. Let alone seeing them as someone completely different.

"This mean he's woken up?" Specs asked David. "I mean, he knows her…"

David shook his head, "I don't know. There's one way to find out but-"

There was a scream from behind them, coming from the campus. They turned in time to see a young woman run past the scaffolding, not seeing her face, but what she was yelling was perfectly clear in their ears.

"KID BLINK!"

The guys almost fell off the scaffolding when she screamed the name they knew so well. They rushed the ends of the scaffolding, and Race jumped down to the ground, video recording the young woman as she ran at full sprint across the park towards Kid Blink.

The young woman, with short blonde hair and wearing stained overalls, had dropped her books all over the sidewalk, not seeing anything else but the young man in black.

The yound man looked up, his face blank as he realized she was yelling at him. He pulled the phone away from his ear, his blue eyes wide, and Jack felt a pang in his chest as he watched…

If he recognized her—

"KID!" she yelled again.

"Holy shit, overload," Mush said, pushing his hands to either side of his head, his expression pained. "Man, _that's Kat_!"

"It's fuckin' Kat," Specs said over Mush.

"This is unreal," David said, shaking his head. "Jack, this is _crazy_ -"

"We're finding everyone…" Mush said in disbelief. "'s…like fate or somethin'…"

The guys watched anxiously as Kat came to a stop in front of Kid Blink, throwing her arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life like she had in the water of the bay in 1901…

But the young blonde man didn't know her: his expression was disgusted almost, his arms outstretched as he tried to separate himself. He said something to her and she staggered back, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She was shaking her head as she reached for him again, her hands touching his face.

The guy—Kid Blink—laughed as he pushed her hands away, smoothing the wrinkles on his black button down. He smiled at her, touched her chin in one of those dick moves you see in movies, and turned to walk away, not giving one shit about her.

It all happened in three minutes.

"Damn, Kid…" Race muttered, lowering his phone as he stared at the scene in front of him.

"I guess that's our answer," Mush said darkly.

"Can't believe he's such a _dick_ ," Specs said angrily. "Imma punch 'im when he comes to."

Jack's chest felt empty as he watched the whole thing play out. He felt sick.

"Kid Blink," she called after him, only to be ignored. "Kid Blink!"

The guy only took out his phone again, still walking away from her.

She tilted her head back before allowing her legs to fold under her, all her energy draining from her. She buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook with waves of sobs.

Race jumped down from the ladder and the guys followed him, watching the young woman. Snoddy and Mush bent down to pick up her books—sketchbooks. Their faces were heartbroken as they watched her, still unable to believe she was there.

Jack began walking towards her quickly, not wanting to draw more attention to them even though the sidewalks were mostly clear now.

Jack's eyes watched Kid Blink's retreating figure and he could hear her sobs as he got closer to her.

His eyes moved to the back of her head. Her hair was short now, in one of those long bobs girls wore now…her overalls were worn with paint stains on the legs, and there were paint stains on her red converse shoes. She wore a tight striped t-shirt underneath her overalls, the sleeves stopping at her elbows.

He stepped around her slowly, kneeling in front of her.

He saw her long fingers digging into her head as she cried, her throat raw. Her heart was breaking.

"Kat…?" he said quietly, his voice rough.

Her head snapped up, her glassy hazel eyes widening when she saw his face.

She fell backwards, catching herself on her hands as she backed away from him franticly.

She stared at him for a long moment, breathing raggedly, until she calmed down.

Those eyes scanned him over and over again, and she looked over her shoulder, seeing the others standing a few feet away. She began shaking again and Jack edged closer to her, taking her firmly by the arms to steady her.

He thought she was going to push him away. But her hands gripped him as tight as vices, her strength surprising him. Her wide bright eyes read his desperately, her fingers pressing down on his skin. It was confirmation.

She finally exhaled, as if seeing him had knocked the wind out of her.

"Am I dreaming?" she asked hoarsely. She shook her head, her expression breaking his heart as tears flowed down her cheeks. She sounded exactly the same, her voice softened by her slight British accent.

"Is it really you, Jack?" she gasped through gentle sobs.

"Yeah," he said gently, lightly squeezing her arms.

She moved to stand and he helped her, holding her steady until he felt she could stand.

The others came closer too, and Kat's other hand instantly shot out, touching their arms, their chests, keeping one hand on Jack. Her fingers trembled.

They watched her solemnly, seeing realization dawn on her face over and over as she looked at them. They stood tall around her, giving her whatever strength she needed. She looked like she might fall over. She looked so thin and tired.

"But-" she looked back, seeing the tiny figure of Kid Blink climb into a taxi. "If you—if you know me…" More tears came as her voice broke, " _He_ -"

"He hasn't…" David shook his head dejectedly. "He hasn't woken up yet."

Kat turned her head back to them, her light brown eyebrows knitted. Her wet pink lips were parted as she tried to slow her breathing. Her eyes read their faces and they saw the thoughts swirling around in them.

She looked at Jack, "I…I only…remembered everything… 3 weeks ago."

"Holy shit," Mush said, looking at David.

Kat shook her head, her eyes bright now as she looked at each of them, like it was her safety blanket to see their faces.

"I thought I was _crazy_. I-I didn't know what the hell was going on—my name was Amber and I was an Anthropology student—and I suddenly remembered _everything_ and I…"

Jack stiffened as he saw fresh tears in her eyes, seeing the look on her face. He knew that feeling.

"I had to find _him_ ," Kat said breathlessly, her eyes far away over Jack's shoulder. "I knew, _I felt it_ , he was _here_. But now-"

Racetrack stepped forward and took her by the shoulders, making her met his eyes.

"We'll get 'im back," he said sternly. "Ya hear me? We ain't losin' you, we ain't losin' 'im eitha."

"We've found Medda," David said and Kat's hair whipped around her face as a breeze washed over them. But Kat shivered at David's words. "And Ira."

Kat's eyes lit up and she looked at Jack, "Before I remembered, she and I had classes together. After…remembering, I almost passed out when I saw her again. I didn't say anything to her—but I tried to gage if she…Jack, that's why I thought I would find everyone."

The guys all looked at each other, and Jack's eyes stayed locked on her face.

"Ya know her?" he asked evenly.

She nodded, "She doesn't have many friends, only the ones she dances with. But I would always sit next to her, talk with her. Especially after…"

She shivered again, closing her eyes. The guys were all silent as they listened to her.

"It was so hard…not to say _anything_. And the _headaches_ -"

"We know," Race said irritably. "They don' go away eitha."

She looked at Race blankly. "So those are… normal? I remember from when I had classes…with her-she gets them too."

Jack rubbed his hand over his face, trying to take in everything that had just happened in the past twenty minutes. He felt clammy all over and dizzy. He took a few deep breathes, letting them out in a huff.

Kat's breathing was shaky, as if she were on the edge of barely holding herself together.

"I still can't believe it," she said as her eyes roamed over their faces again. "I found…him…and you guys all in the same day…I know I'm not dreaming…but even if I am, it's— _so_ —good to see all of you."

Mush put his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. Kat put her hand over his, as if he were her lifeline.

"We've been working on campus," David motioned to the forgotten scaffolding behind him. "That's how we found Ira."

Jack let out another huff.

"What now, Cowboy?" Mush asked quietly.

"I dunno," Jack answered, looking up at the sky. Clouds were coming in. "But we gotta tell Medda…and I think she'll wanna see you too, Kat. Can ya come with us ta her place tonight?"

Kat nodded, looking like she was in a daze. The excitement left her face but not her eyes. She was excited to see them, but after what happened with Kid…her energy left her.

Racetrack got Kat's number and texted her Medda's address. They hugged each other again, long and hard, before letting Kat go. They watched her walk away sadly, and saw her lift her hand to her face more than once, the October breeze catching her short hair.


	8. Chapter 8

Kat sat on the floor, the cup of tea clutched between her long fingers. She wore 70's style bell bottom jeans, with a fitted chunky orange knit sweater. She looked beautiful sitting there on Medda's white rug, her hand occasionally stroking the cats that walked by her as they weaved through the boys on the floor and couches.

Medda had restocked on beer, and the guys were lounging around Kat and Medda now, just happy to relax. Mush asked tentatively about smoking…and Medda pulled out her own stash.

"Helps with those god damned headaches," Medda said as she passed her pipe to Kat, who took it gratefully. "Plus I just like it." She winked at Spot, who was smirking.

"Same ol' Medda," Spot murmured.

Kat had asked for a shot of bourbon in her tea. And with a smile, Medda left the bottle on the coffee table. With each sip, the sadness left Kat's eyes a little bit more. Jack smirked at her, taking a sip of his bourbon on rocks.

Medda's face was like stone when they told her about Kid Blink and showed her the video Race had recorded of Kid and Kat's run-in…Kat didn't watch.

"Don't you care," Medda said, kneeling in front of Kat. Medda's silk robe pooled around them as she held Kat's shoulders. "This isn't him. And you know it."

And soon Kat was smiling as Medda distracted her—all of them—with stories of her work with actors and dancers and asshole producers on Broadway. Kat's face lit up when Medda brought out her signed playbills, the scripts she'd kept.

Kat's eyes looked bigger with her hair cut in a long bob but she looked older, much more like a young woman. Her rosy cheeks turned redder as she began smiling and laughing with them, telling old stories…but they didn't linger on those for long.

As they teetered around old stories, they became more painfully aware of the two missing main characters…

"So," David began. Everyone fell quiet, looking down at their drinks. "We gonna talk about them tonight? I was thinking we could try and find out where they work? Maybe go from there…"

Everyone began murmuring and then talking louder. David reached for Medda's laptop, wanting to pull up Ira's Facebook to see if she had her work listed.

But while everyone else talked and told Medda more about what had happened, Kat was quiet, her eyes avoiding faces as she reached for the bourbon bottle. And Jack noticed.

"'s matta?" Jack asked evenly. Everyone's eyes went to him, then to Kat, who still kept her head down.

"Kat," Jack said.

The young woman looked up at him finally, her eyes nervous.

She knew Jack's temper. And by the look on her face, she was preparing for the worst.

"You won't find her work on Facebook," she said hoarsely.

The guys glanced at each other before looking at David, the light from the computer in his lap illuminating his face in blue.

"Why not?" Jack asked, his voice hard as stone.

Kat didn't look away from Jack. She looked him dead in the eye.

"Because she's a dancer."

"Well, we kinda knew that one," Race scoffed.

But they all read her face and it slowly dawned on them—

"Where?" Jack barked.

"At the Black Diamond," Kat said, her voice steady, her eyes strong as she expected his reaction. So she spoke clearly and quickly. "A high end night club in Midtown. You need at least $5,000 just get in the door."

She knew he didn't like hearing it, none of them wanted to hear it. And Medda stayed quiet, listening and watching Kat with an unreadable expression, her long fingers stroking Jack the cat.

Kat kept talking, answering all their unvoiced questions.

"She doesn't talk about it... She doesn't advertise. I saw an outfit poking out of her bag one day in class, and I asked if it was for one of her dance classes. I guess she trusts me…she's opened up about it a couple times since then.

"The high rollers of New York go there. I've never been, and she doesn't flaunt the money she makes…but I'd bet she makes at least $20,000 a week."

Spot let out a low whistle and the guys shifted around uncomfortably. But Kat scrambled to put their minds—especially Jack's—at ease.

"It's a strip club, but they aren't required to go completely nude. Just to dance," Kat said gently, her eyes on Jack. "But they make more money when they do. And there's no…sleeping around. Though many have offered to pay her ungodly amounts to just…Well, she's turned them all down."

Jack had been leaning on his knees until she said that last part. He flopped back on the couch, rubbing his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Didn't think I'd hafta deal with this shit again. Let alone in anotha _lifetime_ ," he said darkly.

"That's not fair, Jack," Medda said, her eyes locked on the handsome young man's face.

His head snapped up, his voice bitter. "Sorry, am I supposed ta be jumpin' fa fuckin' joy tha' she's some big shot's wet dream?"

"NYU is beyond expensive," Medda said defensively. "She's not sleepin' around. And the ones who are probably don't like it. It's for the money. Always has been."

"I _know_ that," Jack spat, standing up to go to the window, looking out over the city.

Kat's fingers trailed over the orange tabby, thinking about his name…thinking about…

"I had seen him…before," she murmured.

She looked to the wall of glass to her right to avoid seeing the heartbroken expressions on their faces, but she saw them reflected in the glass, mingled with the lights of the city.

She could feel the energy humming through the city that stretched out before them. The lights were her favorite... against the dark sky, it looked like a cluster of stars. So different than it used to be…it went from 0 to 100. At least it did for them.

She thought back to that one day in September, when she'd been leaving class, the dark gorgeous Russian next to her…

"He has stopped her after class one day, asking about something…it might've been money."

A tear streaked down her face and her breath caught for a moment as she remembered his face.

"I didn't know then," she breathed.

Jack looked down to his right at Kat. Her body curled in on itself a little, as if it physically hurt her to think about him.

"He'd been right there in front of me," she sobbed gently, closing her eyes, blocking out the city.

Medda crawled over to her, gripping her shoulders from behind. Medda smoothed back Kat's short blonde hair, murmuring to her.

"Maybe he works where she does," Racetrack said after a long moment. "At tha club."

"I guess there's one way ta find that one out," Specs said with a sigh, looking up at Jack to see his back stiffen under his shirt.

"We sure we can handle that?" Mush questioned carefully. "I mean…we'd hafta be cool, guys."

"We'd hafta be rich," Spot said as he reached for another beer. "Can't walk inta place like that an' not drop some green."

"Green we don't have," Snoddy said.

"Don't you fellas worry about that," Medda said as she still smoothed her hands over Kat's hair. "Whatever you need," Medda looked to Jack, the guys looking at her. "Suits, money…I know you want to make sure she's safe, and to get closer to her…I want to make sure she's safe too."

"They're hiring cocktail waitresses," Kat said, rubbing her sleeve over her cheeks. "Ira—Tiffany—told me."

"That _name_ ," Mush groaned.

"Terrible," Racetrack muttered, shaking his head.

Kat took a deep breath. "I can see if they'll hire me. I need the extra cash anyway."

Jack watched her for a long moment, imagining the torment she might face, seeing Kid Blink around half naked women, being an asshole…

He could relate to the internal struggle he saw in her eyes.

Jack nodded to her, "We'll be right there with ya."

Kat sniffed and nodded. God, she looked so much older.

"Atta girl," Spot said, winking at Kat.

….


End file.
